The Iliad

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Год написания книги

2019

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The purple cuishes clasp his thighs around,

With flowers adorn’d, with silver buckles bound:

Lycaon’s corslet his fair body dress’d,

Braced in and fitted to his softer breast;

A radiant baldric, o’er his shoulder tied,

Sustain’d the sword that glitter’d at his side:

His youthful face a polish’d helm o’erspread;

The waving horse-hair nodded on his head:

His figured shield, a shining orb, he takes,

And in his hand a pointed javelin shakes.

With equal speed and fired by equal charms,

The Spartan hero sheathes his limbs in arms.

Now round the lists the admiring armies stand,

With javelins fix’d, the Greek and Trojan band.

Amidst the dreadful vale, the chiefs advance,

All pale with rage, and shake the threatening lance.

The Trojan first his shining javelin threw;

Full on Atrides’ ringing shield it flew,

Nor pierced the brazen orb, but with a bound

Leap’d from the buckler, blunted, on the ground.

Atrides then his massy lance prepares,

In act to throw, but first prefers his prayers:

“Give me, great Jove! to punish lawless lust,

And lay the Trojan gasping in the dust:

Destroy the aggressor, aid my righteous cause,

Avenge the breach of hospitable laws!

Let this example future times reclaim,

And guard from wrong fair friendship’s holy name.”

Be said, and poised in air the javelin sent,

Through Paris’ shield the forceful weapon went,

His corslet pierces, and his garment rends,

And glancing downward, near his flank descends.

The wary Trojan, bending from the blow,

Eludes the death, and disappoints his foe:

But fierce Atrides waved his sword, and strook

Full on his casque: the crested helmet shook;

The brittle steel, unfaithful to his hand,

Broke short: the fragments glitter’d on the sand.

The raging warrior to the spacious skies

Raised his upbraiding voice and angry eyes:

“Then is it vain in Jove himself to trust?

And is it thus the gods assist the just?

When crimes provoke us, Heaven success denies;

The dart falls harmless, and the falchion flies.”

Furious he said, and towards the Grecian crew

(Seized by the crest) the unhappy warrior drew;

Struggling he followed, while the embroider’d thong

That tied his helmet, dragg’d the chief along.

Then had his ruin crown’d Atrides’ joy,

But Venus trembled for the prince of Troy: